


grieve for nothing

by ninata



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Full Game Spoilers, M/M, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 05:54:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13781133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninata/pseuds/ninata
Summary: During a day at work, Shuuichi struggles to reconcile what happened in the game. They most certainly don't make it easy for him to move on.





	grieve for nothing

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for:  
> some diluted horniness, bad coping, Depression, hints of suicidal tendencies, smoking, dealing with death

Light creeps in from the spaces between the blinds, striking his eyes. The harsh reality of the morning sets in, and Shuuichi struggles to wake himself up.

Trapped under the covers, Shuuichi is a prisoner in his body. The blanket of sleep is still heavy, too heavy for him to wriggle himself free. Nothing moves as he wants it to, everything is dark. He knows he’s awake, but his body won’t respond. 

It takes a few stubborn moments, but he finally starts to regain consciousness. His eyes open with tremendous effort, and he turns on his side, legs stretching out from under his comforter.

For once, he set out his futon. Instead of sleeping in a pile of garbage at his coffee table, he cleaned up and treated himself. You wouldn't think of sleeping in an actual bed as a treat, but it's surprising what Shuuichi refuses to do for himself out of spite.

He fumbles around the sides of his futon until he finds his phone. Squints. It’s twelve pm— twelve thirteen, to be precise— and he’s got an angry list of missed calls glaring at him. He sighs. Sits up.

He must’ve had work to do today. Team Danganronpa is very rigid about these things, but Shuuichi can’t find it in himself to put value in it. Feel any weight. Consequences.

He gets up. His bare feet plod across stained carpet, daintily over empty bags of chips. He should shower, so he does.

His nightshirt, his underwear, tossed nonchalantly into a pile on the tile. He turns on the shower and dips his hand under now and again to test the temperature, then finally steps in. 

Heat blasts over his tired body. The cold sweat from last night’s nightmare is washed away. No more visions of death, of broken promises and meaningless vows. No piano music, no saccharine laughter, no strong hand to pound his shoulder when he feels like he could give up.

Nothing. Just the water and his naked body. Is it cleansing? Healing? No, he doesn’t feel any better. He just feels lonely.

He rests his head against the cool wall. Water still raining on him, he cries for a few minutes. Painful, prickly sobs, shooting waves of dread into his body. It stings, but it passes eventually, snot running clear into the water. The metal knob seems to look at him with disdain. He collects himself.

Shampoo, twice. Wring it all out, then conditioner. As he washes his body, he can’t find the strength in his mind to wander. It’s dead, floating, a drowned, bloated corpse. He’s thinking of nothing, just bodies. He thinks of touching himself, but he’s too disgusted this morning. Afternoon? Whatever.

He climbs out of the shower feeling a little less asleep. Blowdrying his hair, one lock already sticking up as it always does. He brushes his teeth. He spits it out, and it’s all red. He frowns.

When his phone rings, he picks it up.

“Saihara, you get my messages?”

“Um, yes, sorry...I was…”

“Asleep again? Eh, whatever. Look kid, we have you and Harukawa and Yumeno on for a show in a few hours. Will his royal maj-ASS-ty show up for once?”

His manager is by all appearances a nice man, but Shuuichi doesn’t like him.

“I’ll be there. Just tell me where and when.”

So he does.

He walks around his apartment nude, dodging trash as he makes his way to his laundry hamper. He never bothers to take everything clean out and fold it. He pulls on boxers and a sweater. Black socks. Nice slacks. Good enough, right? Needs to be ironed, but who cares? They’ll make him change when he gets there, anyway.

His trip to the studio is quiet, stopping now and again in the wet air to light a cigarette. Puddles punctuate the dips in pavement. It feels heavy, like he’s still in his futon. Like it’s another waking dream.

When he arrives, Maki is already there, sipping daintily from her cup of coffee. Her short nails tap against the cardboard shell, a tenseness running through her frame as Shuuichi enters her line of vision.

“Finally here, huh?” She asks brusquely, her cropped hair adding to her severity. She cut all her hair off after the game. It suits her, Shuuichi thinks.

“Sorry. Didn’t hear my alarm.” He lies. She can tell. She takes another sip.

“You stink like smoke.” Comes a voice, and Shuuichi turns to see Himiko flattening out her skirt as she approaches him. “I thought you said you’d cut back, Shuuichi.”

The first name basis tickles him. For a moment he’s embarrassed, and it isn’t overshadowed by anxious fear. Her stubby fingers weave themselves together. Her concern concentrates itself in the purse of her lips.

“Sorry...rough morning.”

Maki clicks her tongue. “We were able to cover for you. Don’t say anything weird this time, okay?”

Shuuichi nods. He does love causing a scene, but it isn’t worth it when Maki and Himiko are there too.

He didn’t have much left to fight against Team Danganronpa with anymore.

Today’s work is a variety show. Mainly interview. Shuuichi loathes the ones where they’re forced to play embarrassing games, but this one doesn’t appear to be that type. He was never big on celebrities or non-fiction, so the name of the show means nothing to him.

Unscripted is another thing he hates, but he’ll manage. They’ve put him in a shirt and tie, and after his third cup from the coffee machine, they ban him from getting more. Angrily he watches the studio assistants milling around, blocking him from the snack table.

“We’re on in 10.” After an eternity of waiting, Shuuichi sighs. Himiko is doing her normal anti-anxiety routine, and Maki straightens his tie like she’s his mother.

“Promise.” She says. “Promise you won’t try to cause trouble today.”

“I said I wouldn’t…”

“Good. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself, you know. You don’t need to keep making yourself miserable.” She steps away, crossing her arms. “Punishing yourself won’t bring them back.”

His stomach bottoms out. He suddenly feels very sick, but Maki’s eyes are soft. He knows she doesn’t mean it to hurt him, but he can’t stand being called on his shit.

“Come on. Let’s get on set.” 

Himiko shuffles over, looking confused. “Hey, what did you say to him? Maki?”

Maki shakes her head. The couch on set looks uncomfortable, but he can’t exactly opt to stand. They sit down with Saihara closest to the interviewer, a stout woman with curled hair and bright eyes. She introduces herself as Maeko, a name lost on Shuuichi. Himiko and Maki titter amongst themselves. At the five signal, Maki pats his back.

“We’ll be okay.” She whispers. Shuuichi swallows. He’ll trust in her for now.

The countdown. The bright lights. Shuuichi will never get used to this, a world he once longed for. A world where he’s lavished with attention, the camera centered on him. How he hates it, now.

“And we’re back! We have with us Shuuichi Saihara-kun, Maki Harukawa-san and Himiko Yumeno-san! Notorious for a controversial finale to the latest installment of Danganronpa, we’ll be asking them a few questions about their work in the season!”

Work in the season. As if they were just paid actors. Shuuichi maintains a demure smile, his hands folded in his lap.

“Saihara-kun, we’re happy to have you on the show! We understand you’re a little hard to get ahold of, huh?” Maeko’s teeth shine at him. He forces a laugh.

“Well...I just wasn’t expecting to be in high demand. I’m, er...sort of a homebody.”

“That’s too bad! Yumeno-san, everyone’s been abuzz with your casting in the newest season of…”

Shuuichi zones out for a few minutes as the inteviewer updates the audience with exposition. Himiko got hired to be in a new drama, and Maki has been somewhat of a Cinderella story. An actual orphan, she’s been using her winnings to bolster the orphanage she came from. What she doesn’t say is that she hates the place, and only pays them for the sake of the orphans. Himiko gets terrible stage fright, but she’s a surprisingly good actress when she’s scripted.

He snaps back when his name is said.

“...Saihara-kun, you gave a really powerful final speech. Even the fans who weren’t on your side were moved!”

“Ah, well...it’s just what I was feeling.”

“Saihara-kun was a very emotional protagonist.”

“You can say that again.” Himiko says, eliciting a quiet bubble of laughter from the audience.

“Was it hard, standing up to Shirogane-san like that?”

Shuuichi nods.

“To me...she was still our friend, despite being the mastermind...so it was really hard to fight against her.”

He’s detached from it. Speaking about something so horrific without feeling a thing. How can a person share that despair with a televised audience without blinking? It’s surprising how little he cares to preserve his privacy.

“On that subject— Ouma-kun’s role in the game was very interesting, wasn’t it? He’s become a fan favorite since the season ended, but almost everyone hated him in production, didn’t they?”

Shuuichi’s shoulders stiffen.

“...I ended up feeling bad for him,” Maki says, sensing Shuuichi’s discomfort. “After we found out he wasn’t the mastermind...you can’t help but pity him. And I felt at fault…”

“Harumaki, it’s not your fault.” A little wave of ‘awww’s. Himiko pats Maki’s thigh. “You did what you had to. He wasn’t making it easy to like him, y’know?”

‘Easy to like him’. He thinks of Ouma’s face, glittering with mischief, his challenges and games. He thinks of how his thin hands trembled in his as he wrapped up a cut finger.

He thinks of how he cried when Gonta died. He thinks of how he twirled around him, offering lies and truths and words he didn’t want to hear.

_ You’re the only one who can solve this mystery, Saihara-chan.  _ Something like that.

“Today, we actually were able to get Ouma-kun’s audition tape! Can we have that put on the screen?”

Shuuichi swallows a lump in his throat, whirling to get a good look at the screen.

Static. Then, there he was.

Carrying himself completely differently. His hands in a tight knot in front of him, his eyes shifting to and fro.

“M-My name is… Kokichi—“ Censored out. “I...I wanted to audition for this season’s Danganronpa…”

A silence. Everyone is on edge.

“I don’t care...what my talent is. I don’t care as long as...a-as long as I’m interesting. I want to be the f-flashiest, funniest character...I want people to root for me, a-and, to cry for me…"

His eyes never stray above his feet. His gakuran is painfully plain— all of him is plain, to the bags under his eyes to his brown loafers. He didn't even have highlights dyed in.

“I want to be remembered…I’ll do anything you want, just...let me be a character everyone wanted to live.”

Static.

Shuuichi floats above his body. The interviewer is speaking, but he can’t hear her. All he feels is a distinctly painful throb in his chest, something that aches for something he can never have.

He felt something was common between them. Maybe if they had met before all this, they would’ve gotten along. Gotten along like they did in the killing game, a detective chasing after a criminal, always one step ahead. Or...maybe differently, like two like-minded people who wanted nothing more than to be…

To be dead.

He could sense the hopelessness in him. He felt that way, too. Maybe...maybe they were more alike than he'd thought. Maybe he purposefully avoided thinking about that out of guilt.

Shuuichi was quick to fall for people, quick to devote himself to strangers. Momota and Akamatsu were that way for him. But Ouma made him feel...interested. Made him feel like Ouma may have seen something in Shuuichi he himself refused to see.

Nobody else thought he could save them like Ouma did.

But he died, just like everyone else. Crushed slowly, painfully. Even now, Shuuichi can remember the thrill that shot through him at the sight of all that blood.

Ouma was really gone, and he'd never know what could've happened between them. If Ouma would've made him happier than anyone else, if they would've faced a world that hated them together. If he could've captured that smile in his hands, and tucked it close to his heart.

Maybe they would've been less lonely together. Maybe he could've come to understand him.

But he'd never know.

“...Saihara-kun? You’ve been misty eyed this entire time.”

“I— Sorry.” Shuuichi licks his lips, looking at his knees. “I guess I was just...thinking he may have got what he wanted, in the end.”

**Author's Note:**

> finally got something new out! wanted to try writing something that fit canon more, but still included my headcanons about pregame. i wish it was sadder but...it is what it is.  
> thanks for the read, as always.


End file.
